10 Stupid And Erroneous Rules About Time Lords
by Garmonbozia
Summary: 5/13  Being locked in a room with one's former enemy by one's wife is simply not cricket.  When there is a manipulative and possibly malevolent psychic presence involved, refusing to identify itself, it is nigh-on unforgivable.
1. Chapter 1

There is a story which explains quite neatly and in perfect innocence why I am wearing a soaking wet dressing gown and towelling my hair in a locked room with a young lady who literally just fainted from terror and is now unconscious. There was a time and a place for that story, but it is not now. Suffice to say it involves my wife, and her parents. Conspiracy, it is. They're all against me. Once more I am to be held prisoner in my own home. And River and the Ponds are nowhere near so easy to manipulate as the dead weight formerly known as the Little Ghost. Their flaws and weaknesses are all complex and human and psychologically.

But this thought, nonetheless, gives me an idea. It is my third or fourth idea since River locked me in, and as you can probably tell from the fact that I'm still in here, none of them have worked. I am, however, undeterred.

I go to the little hatch in the wall (the Tardis. The Tardis added this room on for her. She's in on it. They're all in on it, even she's out to get me) that River oh-so-kindly left and is manning, and rap again.

"You're not even trying to speak to her," she says, even before she's pulled it all the way back.

'Her', the cat's mother, in this case, being Jessica. The unconscious former Little Ghost. All caught up are we good right then I'll go on.

"I can't wake her up. You know, what I always used before was that heartbeat recording. Now, the speakers probably still have it, but I'll need the sonic."

River just looks at me. As if she's waiting for more. I make a point of keeping eye contact, returning the sentiment. Then she laughs at me and slams the hatch shut.

So it's clear then. My only way out of here is bite down and do what she wants.

That is not the first time I have had to say that. I do not imagine it will be the last.

I try again to rouse Jessica by shaking. Nothing happens. This Jessica, this time stream, this is the first time I've gotten a decent look at her face. Even in her sleep, even with her mask intact, she buries her head away in her arms. I've seen it in other times, though. There's a future version that keeps sticking her admirably unmasked head in, as if she was trying to point me towards this.

River implied, when she shot the bolt to keep us in here, that we've been avoiding each other. How she managed to draw that conclusion, when we two have been living as jailor and jailed for some days know, I don't quite know. 'You two need to talk,' she said. I was glad, in a way, that Jessica had collapsed; had she seen her say that, _lip-reading_ it and _mute_ in response, she might have taken offence.

We have been provided with pen and paper, though not with the cybernetic thought interface that might lend itself best to meaningful communication. All I need now is somebody to talk to.

"Sorry," I mutter to her, and brush the hair off her face before I stand up. Then I take the corner of my dressing gown and wring a stream of chill chlorinated water out over her nose and cheeks.

Jessica wakes in little shudders and winces, and bats at her nose like there's an insect fluttering there. Then her eyes open.

Her reaction times really are amazing. In the same moment I notice her eyelashes fluttering she's balled up in the corner of the couch, hugging a pillow with only her eyes looking over the top.

"No," I try to tell her, "it's alright. I don't know what you think will happen, but I looked at you before and you're fine." She shakes not just her head but her whole upper body, so that the cushion moves with her. "What do you think-?" I start to ask, and start to give her the pad to write on, but she refuses. She readjusts the cushion to be held in one arm, freeing the other hand. It goes to where I can only suspect her face to be, fingers spread, and moves in sharp, panicked circles.

See, now that I've described it, it sounds like it could mean anything. It doesn't. It means she wants her white mask back. Very plainly, unable to mean anything else, that's what it means.

"I don't have it. River does. She put the two of us in here because _she_ doesn't think anything will happen either."

The bright blue eyes narrow, angry and mistrustful.

She points at me, then towards the door. Then hugs the cushion again and taps the places where the two shafts of her collarbone would be.

'You and her,' she's saying, 'you're both Time Lords.'

"River's not really."

She reiterates her motion. It simulates the twin heartbeat. It really does, there's no other way to interpret it. River has two heartbeats and must therefore be a Time Lord.

"Look, just put the cushion down. You'll be fine."

Jessica shakes her head again. And this time she just looks hurt. This time, when I hold out the pen and paper, she stretches out and grabs it. 'They will trick it,' she writes. 'It must not remove its mask'.

Which is strange.

I mean, not just what she wrote. That's very strange and nonsensical and entirely ridiculous, of course. But this is Jessica writing. And Jessica's English am never to have been being so good. The sentences are simple but the grammar and the structure are perfect.

"Jessica, who taught you that? Who said that to you?"

She writes, and her writing is slow and small and almost reverent, 'Owner'.

I could question her about that. And I will. But I'll do it when I'm speaking to all of her round, pale face, and not a cushion with eyes. She looks like an unlikely puppet, like the mouth is going to open up in the cushion, just over where her arms are.

"What exactly did Owner say about your mask?"

'It must always wear its mask. If they look at its face it will die.'

Don't laugh. I know it's stupid and thoroughly unreasonable, and no sane person in their right mind would ever believe it. Not that I'm saying she's insane, oh no, far from it. Jessica is totally present. Highly intelligent. A thoroughly sharp little mind. So don't laugh. Because that means she has never known anything different to these things that she was taught. She has never been given the context to think them unreasonable.

"You won't die," I tell her, but she doesn't believe me. She can't. In her world, her rules, I'm the enemy, and I'll do whatever it takes to get that last killing glance at her face. "When you were unconscious just then, I looked at your face. And you're alive now, aren't you?" Jessica stretches and circles the words, 'They will trick it', to repeat.

The very fact that she's explaining her fears means she wants to believe.

"You don't really believe all that, do you?"

I try to sit next to her, ready to take the cushion away. She almost lets me, before she jumps up, over the back of the couch and runs to the door. The cushion is dropped. One hand obscures as much of her face as it possibly can. The other pounds at the door.

On up the wall, River opens the hatch.

"For heaven's sake, sweetie, you can't give up every time it starts to – Oh, hello, Jessica."

But Jessica is in no mood for pleasantries, and not from the woman who has her mask. I point over her head, trying to warn River that the stakes are starting to grow down her arms, slowly but surely and ready to shoot out sharp should she give an unsatisfactory answer. Jessica is making her 'Mask, please' mime again. River is looks back, nodding with infinite wisdom and empathy.

Do not, oh God, do not, please please do not let me think of the face of Boe, that does not end well for us, oh please, no…

The fact is, she's not giving anything up.

The fact is, there's nothing to give. Shrugging her shoulders to Jessica, she holds up in her hands the two halves of the shattered mask.

There's an eyeblink of a pause. Even the Little Ghost needs a second to find that kind of rage in her heart. Then she jumps, hauling herself up on the hatch. One stake is a second premature and fires over River's shoulder instead of through her throat. I grab the other back before it can swing forward. Jessica unbalances and falls to the floor, landing hard on her back. She knocks her head, too, against the mahogany leg of the coffee table. Her eyes swim.

When they focus again, it's on me.

She cries out. The only true sound I've ever heard her make. Somebody with no concept of sound, with no language, no vocal communication whatever, the only noise she can make must necessarily be involuntary, true, irreconcilable pain, and it is heartbreaking to hear.

Behind me I hear River close the hatch. It's almost difficult to blame her. I'd want to shut that scream out too. Yes, almost. Doesn't mean I'm not going to outright kill her this time. Soon as I get out of this room.

The cry ends, eventually. And Jessica realizes she can still open her eyes. And breathe. Heart's still beating, though I won't mention that if it comes to pointing these things out, hearts are a bit of a touchy subject. She is, in short, still very much alive.

She goes away though. All of her goes away somewhere very deep inside. And she gets up, shaking off my arm. Wanders back to the couch, stumbling once on her own feet, and picks up the paper again.

Staring at where she wrote, 'It must always wear its mask'.

I crane around until she notices me, so that I can ask her, "What _else_ did Owner say?"

She doesn't answer me right away. She is tugging gently, thoughfully, on an earlobe.


	2. Chapter 2

You would think that once these lines of communication had been opened, I might have been able to keep them open. That once all the coaxing and cajoling had been done once, it would be a steady downward slide into meaningful exchange between two intelligent beings. You would have been wrong and stupid to think that and I could just kick myself, frankly.

I tried to open meaningful exchange by tearing apart the very tenets of Jessica's existence. All she has ever known, all she has ever been taught to live by, has been called into question. Anything she ever thought she had is hers no longer. She sits cross-legged at the end of the couch, stroking at the sore on her arm where the stake broke off.

Shouldn't forget she tried to stab River just now. But I keep thinking the phrase, 'extreme duress'. But that's probably not the argument I'll get if I go back to the hatch right now.

All I can do is start poking and prodding again, try and get her to explain a little more. It's not because of River anymore, either. Not because we're locked in here, not because I need to know what other pieces of Jessica should be scrapped and started again. Because I should have asked. Can't help but think to myself, I haven't handled this very well, so far.

"Please, Jessica, what other rules were you taught?" She's not even looking at me. She senses enough to know I'm talking to her and bats at me with one open hand. It's not a blow, not even an attempt at one. It's very simple, very clear, the language of the silent film for 'Go away'. "I can't go anywhere, same as you, though." But her head is down in her arms now and she has no chance of noticing. "River!" I call. No response. "River, you made her catatonic, can I come out now?"

No response.

Once is rude. Twice makes me get up and rap at the hatch. Which makes three no-responses and makes me worried. "River? Pond? Come on, now, this isn't funny. Pond? Rory?"

Three of them and three no-responses. Until just now River, at least, was there and listening in very closely. Why would they go away just as it got good, just as Jessica was getting to grips with the truth of her first rule. Three of them and three no-responses. I study very carefully the edge of the hatch, but it's slid right through and over the other side. No way to open it with big, cumbersome human fingers with all those _layers_ to them, with the big round bones and all that muscle and the fatty tissue and layers and layers and _layers_ of skin. No, totally _useless_, those are. Don't think I don't try.

I think of Jessica and her stakes and turn to get her.

Jessica is no longer catatonic on the sofa, but has fallen down and to her knees. I try to ask her what's wrong, but she can't see me. One hand holds her upright. The other arm is folded across her chest, as if trying to hold her heart in. It _looks_ as though she's having trouble breathing, but her eyes are clear and her face hasn't reddened, so that can't be it.

I go to her and try to help her up. She looks at me, and her expression is familiar. The words are as obvious as subtitles, because I know it. Companions have given me that look. Friends and companions and all those other people along the way, dozens and hundreds of them have given me that self-same look and said, "Can't you hear that?"

Of course. It must be out of the range of human hearing. A change in pressure, perhaps. Without her ears, Jessica feels it echoing in the cavity of her chest. Most uncomfortable, I should imagine. Leaning on me she stands and staggers across the room. In the corner, she tries to move a leather wing chair, but loses her balance and sinks against the wall. I move the chair for her, and she crawls forward.

There's a little spot on the ground. Now, considering I never knew this room was here and it very probably wasn't before now, I've never seen this spot before. But it's like her face, I know what it is.

Jessica used to wear one around her neck, and one in her ear, and her future self stole one from the Silents at Stormcage and stranded them there.

A transmatter disc.

"Don't touch it," I tell her, but she's not looking. She's glaring at the disc, actually. I can only presume it is emitting whatever signal distresses her so.

From her left arm, the one that didn't attack River, a stake shoots down skinny and fine, and _exactly_ what I was looking for re: hatch. It drives home at the centre of the disc and the disc shatters around it. Jessica sighs and falls away to the wall again.

"All over?"

She nods, makes a fist and beats her ribcage with it, as if trying to pop air bubbles trapped inside. Then mimics writing, so I bring her the pen again.

'It must not hear a sound. The beat of their hearts would destroy it.' That is the second rule. Then she draws a question mark at double size and circles it.

"No," I tell her. And I try not to think how I tormented her, chased her, with low pulses like the one that the disc just gave, and with the rhythm of the Time Lord's hearts. How I told her that's what it was. That they were all coming for her. When I open my eyes again she's looking at me, and thinking about the same thing. "Look, if it makes you feel any better, I grew up thinking you had no ears because- …Wait, you do have ears?"

I take hold of her head and tilt it down so I can look. She has ears, perfectly fine ears. Which isn't to say she couldn't possibly just be naturally deaf, because that _is_ a possibility, but when I look down into the dark of those little shells, something glimmers. Something ripples when I test by shaking her head. I can test no better than that without the sonic, or the Tardis lab, but it tells me enough to say, "Surgical! They took them out! All your… ear bits, the hear-y bits with the little microphone bits and amplifier bits and wire bits, they took them out!"

Jessica nods. 'Tall People protected it from the hearts.'

She looks at me, wanting me to tell her I was wrong. That's okay. The Tall People protected her. How many of these rules are there going to be? How many times am I going to have to pull her down? Left without her mask and feeling like she's been mad all this time and all at once. It didn't have to be all at once. This could have been done gradually and steadily over the course of days or even weeks, and neither of us would have suffered like we do now.

Thinking of whose fault that is, I think of River.

Thinking of River, I think of 'no response'.

Thinking of all that, I haven't looked at Jessica in a while.

Then I hear her laugh. Which she doesn't, she can't, she doesn't know what it is. And it's a wry, nasty little laugh as well, which can't be hers. It is only slowly that I turn to see what's going on.

It's Jessica. It has to be Jessica. She can't have gone anywhere and I've been here the whole time. But she's looking down at the paper like she's never seen it before, with a mean smile on one side of her face. Looks up into my eyes without fear and with a malice I've never seen in her before.

"'Tall People,'" she laughs again. "Oh, Christ, she's a real little crazy, isn't she?"

That's not the voice I've heard her speak with in days to come. Or rather it is, but the accent is different. Crisper, and cool, an experienced and eloquent voice with both correct and colloquial Earth English.

"Jessica?"

"No," she smiles, or whatever the thing is in front of me smiles, "Not right now."

Two things, and two things only; firstly, I would like very much to know what is going on, please. Secondly, and more importantly, and the one I can't stop thinking, 'no response'.


	3. Chapter 3

"What are you?"

The thing lifts up Jessica's open empty hands, a mockery of surrender. "I'm just visiting."

"Well, you're not welcome about my Tardis, get out."

"Silly doctor," it grins back at me, through Jessica's teeth, and taps the side of Jessica's head with one of Jessica's fingers. "I'm visiting _here_."

Jessica's mind. This, actually, has turned out to be a rather useful exercise. It was only lately that we stopped calling Jessica 'Little Ghost' and gave her her real name, and I _was_ having huge trouble getting used to it, but if I don't pick it up now there'd have to be something wrong.

Because I haven't spoken, the thing, whatever it is, goes on. "I must say it's nice to finally meet you. I'm sorry I couldn't give you a little warning. You might have been dressed for the occasion."

"Oh, it's an _occasion_, is it?" I balk, and I pull my dressing gown tighter. Can't help it. She's looking at me, and whatever it is, it still _looks_ like Jessica. It's still the long messy hair that jumps behind when she tosses Jessica's head.

"Ah, it depends how you look at-" It breaks off their in a fit of dry coughing, gasping and holding Jessica's throat. "Good God, it's all _rusty_ in here. That's what happens, see? All this fine equipment, just lying in here, out of use. Official motto of the human body; use it or lose it." It stops to choke again. I'm back on my feet, and moving towards the door. It makes no move to follow, barely seems to notice. It lounges out on the rug instead, stretching. "See, Doctor, it must not say a single word. If they hear its voice, they will know it always, and they will hear it across all the galaxies and the stars."

Which stops me. I had been about to knock for River again, whatever good that may or may not do. But what it just said sounds exactly like the previous two rules. I look up and it lifts Jessica's head up from the floor. "Well? That was what you wanted to know, wasn't it?"

"No. What I want to know is who you are and where you came from and who sent you and why you're here."

"One question at a time, Doctor. Why don't we trade? Quid pro quo. You ask one, then I'll ask one. All fair and democratic and even-steven, like you like." This is not a good idea. This is never a good idea. I am locked in a room with an unknown psychic presence inhabiting a person who already had a number of psycho- and sociopathic tendencies and no way of defending myself. There is no way I can trust a word that this presence says, or rather uses Jessica to hoarsely croak at me. In addition, no response. "Oh, your friends are fine. They're asleep, but it's totally non-toxic. No side-effects."

"I don't believe you."

"It's chlorinol-oxytocin, if the detail helps. The other thing is that, actually, while I'm in a mind with no idea of what lying is, never mind how to do it convincingly, that's me pretty much toasted in terms of making stuff up."

It sits up on the carpet, still rubbing Jessica's raw throat, rolls her head around her neck until it crackles. Adjusting itself to a new home. A temporary home too, that is, I'll see to it. I was just about getting used to Jessica how she is, without her ending up possessed or what have you. I'm not doing possessions again, by the way, I'm not standing for it. We've been here before and it wasn't nice. Rose was all mean and Cassandraish. And then I was all mean and Cassandraish and then I felt all sticky and nasty afterward. Jessica, for all her sins, is having a rough enough day without this.

I can't believe a single word this thing says.

"Well," I tell it, "so long as I'm not going anywhere." I sit down, comfortably, so that it may begin, and lean forward to it. "Let's chat, you and I." There is a moment's pause, a moment's distance. The presence reaches deep into Jessica's mind and finds something, somewhere. A beautiful moment or something she saw, moonlight through smoke or a fireside on a winter's night, and smiles. Not the cold, horrible smile that first alerted me to its presence, but a smile I know to be Jessica's, wonderfully real. "Stop that," I say, and it goes, quicker than it appeared.

"One condition," it says, holding up one finger. Then it looks at that finger, studying the gesture from outside and mutters, "Stop that." Slaps it down, to keep the mute from leaking through. "You can only ask a question of one of us or the other."

"'One of us'?" If I'm here and my friends are sleeping, what's it talking about?

"Yeah. Me or Designated-Jessica-Apple. I know what she knows, Doctor. I can answer anything."

This is so much less than a good idea it's not even really a bad idea anymore. It's a diabolical idea. But the thing is, underneath all this, I have another idea, which might work out a little bit better. It's going to take time, though, and I don't know how much of that I have.

Chlorinol-oxytocin would be fine. They'd all sleep peacefully and have pleasant dreams and wake up with the distinct desire to hug each other, no leftovers bar a little natural sleepiness. And it was both perfected and very popular in the thirty-second century, so that would help me place this stranger too.

Thing is, I'm not out there. I don't know it's chlorinol-oxytocin. Jessica's smile might have been tucked away in some dusty old cupboard, but her poker face is as natural to her as her mask was.

"Fine," I say eventually. "One condition. Quid pro quo, after all. You scratch my back, I get to claw at yours." It shrugs, smiles its own vicious smile again. "I can only presume that if you _were_, somehow, heavens forfend and oh my dear but forgive even the implication, to lie to me, that something of that concept, that ability, would be left behind in the mind of Jessica Apple."

"Theoretically," it agrees.

"Know that if that happens I will hunt you down in _whatever_ obscure little niche there is on this universe, should you inhabit a pig on Parthenon, I will find you, and there will be consequences. That is my condition."

So it laughs again. Its own laugh. It climbs up from the floor and slips onto the sofa next to me, stretches out and puts Jessica's hand on my arm. "Why would I lie to you, Doctor? Not when I do so want us to be friends."

Oh, it's good. Wherever the people who sent it found it, it's very good. I let its hand lie where it is and try to smile back.

"Question number one, who are you?"

"That's an easy one. I told you that already. I'm your Visitor."


	4. Chapter 4

"Who sent you, Visitor?"

"It's _my_ turn to ask the question" it snaps. Indignant, it sits bolt straight, clenching Jessica's fists. Then falters and blinks like something just wakened. "Sorry about that. Mad little cow's got this real sense of fair. Justice, sort of. Ironic, what with all the murder and all… Better watch yourself, Doctor."

"Oh, I'm quite capable," I tell it.

"Really?" It brings up Jessica's right arm, pointing straight at me. On instinct, I duck away across the room, expecting the stake again. Nothing happens, though. No little wood-and-metal noise. The Visitor starts to laugh, then realizes this fact. "What the hell?"

"What are you _doing?_" I balk at it. About five seconds too late to look cool, I remember to take my arms down from protecting my head.

"Trying to figure out how the weapons system works!" It tries picking at the scab, looking underneath for the ends, but apparently it feels Jessica's pain as well as her sense of right and wrong and it stops. Sighs, "Try again later."

It will and all, I'll make sure of it. And it had better get the bloody hang of it. "You had a question, Visitor of Mine?"

It stops poking at Jessica's arms and stops, blank-faced, forgetting. "Sorry, you'll have to give me a second. I've left it around here somewhere." All of a sudden my mental image is of some tiny little visitor running around the immense and almost certainly chaotic office of Jessica's mind. That, of course, isn't what's happening, but that's how I'm thinking of it. "Oh, yes!" it cries, and claps, the eyes alight and the smile open and genuine. Then sinks back again, "Christ Jesus, she's an excitable little thing… Yeah, what size are your shoes?"

"I beg your pardon?"

It's staring, too, and looking mildly, morbidly fascinated, at my feet. Which I've never really been quite so aware of as I am at this moment. That gaze makes me want to take them off and put them away in a cupboard somewhere. This not being an option, I edge behind the coffee table so it can't see anymore. "It's a standard question, Doctor. Usually I'd just guess, but… I'm not comfortable guessing anything above a ten."

"I'm a twelve," I answer. I am surprised, on looking down, to find that I am rather fussily holding the neck of my dressing gown closed.

"Don't get embarrassed," it says. And it is, almost believably, sweet and kind. Leans forward, and doesn't quite look at me, as if suddenly aware that it's made me self-conscious. "Big feet are cool. Make you stable. You'd look stupid with smaller feet." All of this is very nearly comforting, very nearly nice-of-it-to-say-so. It's just that I wonder why it said it all at all. And it knows that. "I'm not trying to trick you, Doctor. It was just a question."

No it wasn't. No way that was _just_ a question; it was too surreal not to mean anything. Too random to be random. Now it's my turn to question and the overwhelming desire is to ask it what it's up to, what the question meant. But that would waste a question, wouldn't it?

Instead I ask it, "Who sent you here?"

"Nobody sent me. I was called."

"By who?"

"Ah-ah-ah! Quid pro quo, Doctor."

"Nobody _called_ you, Visitor. I was speaking to Jessica and you gate-crashed."

Its gaze turns inward, and then the eyes close. Bringing Jessica's hands to rest on its stomach. "She goes all fluttery when him not calls her Little Ghost anymore. She doesn't know what to call it. I know you told me not to leave anything behind while I'm in here, but can I teach her the word 'happy'? Please?"

"You need to explain what you said, Visitor."

"Because she was always told that no matter what she did, however closely she followed the rules, that the Twohearts would know her. And that she would have to kill them first, because they only ever thought of her one way and that was as pending-dead. And now you're calling her by a people-name and everything. She's loving it."

That wasn't what I meant. The Visitor very probably knows that. I meant for it to explain about somebody calling it here, of course. It knew that was what I meant and didn't want to tell me. So it told me rule number four instead. And now it is lying on the couch with the notepad propped up against its knees, adding it to the list. It must always wear its mask and never hear a sound and never speak a word and none of it will do any good anyway. The Visitor knew I'd push it for more, and decided instead to leave me speechless.

"You haven't tried to kill her," it finishes, "and for that you have her eternal loyalty and gratitude."

By accident, I meet the Visitor's eye, a dark and shifting something behind Jessica's. We're thinking, I know by its expression, the self-same thing; what kind of life is that?

That's when I remember that I can't afford to fall into this trap. And it is, by the way, a trap. I don't know what the Visitor wants, but it is _far_ more likely to get it if I'm sitting here thinking that it's not all bad, that it understands me, that we're building a rapport of some kind.

"Can I ask you, Doctor?" it says, widening Jessica's huge eyes, sticking out her lower lip, "Can I make it my next question-"

"No, because you haven't finished answering mine yet-"

"I was quite done, thank you very much," she snaps, a blink-and-miss betrayal of that nasty little play at being sweet and sad. "But can I ask you, in light of all this, what your favourite colour is?" Slowly, sweet and sad disappears in a mad cat of a grin. If ever I had wanted to trust it, that is over now.

"Blue," I tell it. "Now, my dear Visitor, if you want to go on I'm afraid I need more from you than a couple of questions answered."

It tosses Jessica's head with low, long groans of boredom, throws the arms and legs out long and limp. "This could be so easy! Answer me and I go and then you can talk to whoever you want!"

"Oh, right, so you can't leave until I answer you then?" It claps a hand to Jessica's forehead and swears under her breath. I almost tell her off for language before I remember who I'm really talking to. "Good to know, Visitor of Mine."

"What do you _want_?" it sighs.

"I want to know that the people outside the door are alive." And I want to see how the Visitor moves, how it got into this room and into Jessica, how it intends to get out again. But I don't tell it that. It might suspect there was some trick going on, some kind of foul play.

In truth, that's not my plan, and nothing to do with it, but I don't need it getting suspicious of me.

It eyes me like it knows that.

"Yeah," it smiles, "all right."


	5. Chapter 5

It's staring at me. The Visitor has sat up straight and is now staring at me, unblinking and a little unnerving.

"Well?" I say, "Go on then. Proof of life, let's be having you, quickly -_quickly_."

Jessica's head drops sidewards, watching me closely. And she touches her throat and clears it like it's sore. The eyes drift away, and I realize she has no idea why she's doing this. "Jessica?" She recognizes the words on my lips and waits for me to go on. "That's you? That's just plain, normal, everyday Jessica, isn't it?"

She hasn't got a clue what I'm talking about. Which is a yes.

"Visitor!" I call. Outside in the hallway, there is a groan, which I unfortunately recognize. So I change the cry to 'River' and run to the hatch.

Something that sounds like "Juzzamin't" comes back. Either it's being muffled by the wall, or River is talking in her sleep. There's a series of thunks and thuds as she heaves herself up from the ground, along the wall, and rolls to the hatch. When she slams it back, she hangs in the gap. Her eyelids hang heavy, and her grin is open-mouthed and sleepy. "Ah! Hello, sweetie!" she slurs, and grabs me by the dressing gown, pulls me in to kiss me, but she's drugged and it's not pleasant. And it's not right either. Compared to usual, I mean.

Too late, I realize what's happening and push the Visitor away.

It groans, reels backward, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry, it takes a while to adjust… Yeah, it's me. Only it's River. She's alive, and all full of oxytocin and in a kissy kind of mood…"

"You didn't lie about chlorinol-oxytocin."

"Nope," it giggles, then reaches out to grab me again, "Oh, God, come here! It'll shut her up!"

"No!"

So it reaches through and grabs me by force. By the throat this time. River's really very strong, and the Visitor seems to be enjoying that. Mutters something about this one having good fingers on it. "Then direct me to your kitchen, you infuriating little man!"

"No! You're not going anywhere!"

"If you won't kiss her I need some other access to her endorphins, like caffeine, or sugar. I am going to your kitchen. Try and stop me."

"You're only in one body. Where are the other two?"

It rolls River's eyes and disappears out of the frame. I waste the second it's away being surprised how compatible their personalities are, how the Visitor is really pulling off River's look, until it stands up again. This time with Amy hanging unconscious over one arm. It passes me Amy's hand through the hatch so I can check her pulse. Then repeats it all with Rory and a little more difficulty, stamps River's foot and demands, "_Kitchen_!"

"Down the hall, on the left-"

"Thank you!"

"-And don't be long. And bring me a Jammie Dodger."

Teasing, simpering, halfway down the hall, "_Oh_, darling! Are they your favourite?"

And I can't lie about a Jammie Dodger so I tell it, yes.

"Good to know."

While I'm kicking myself for that one, a small, cool hand taps my shoulder. Jessica. I'm not sure how long she's been standing behind me, but she's holding the notepad again. Next to where the Visitor wrote down the last rule, she has added, 'Jessica not has been writing it.'

"I can't explain to you now, there isn't time. Very quickly, Jessica, while she's gone, I need you to think very carefully." Behind two long, tangled wings of hair, her brow furrows and she nods. Looking, oddly enough, at my feet. Not because she's been staring so recently, but of course because she is still wary of my looking her in the face. No time now to comfort her. I check her eyes are lifted to me and ask her, "The people you used to work for, Owner, and the Tall People, do they have anyone who can…"

How to explain the idea of 'possession' to a girl with no words. But the notepad catches my eye. She's holding it to her chest like a child. Those few phrases she has, she clings to.

"Anyone who could take over and be Jessica, or take over and be me, or anybody. In their head."

I'm not doing a very good job at this. Or I don't think so anyway. Jessica's little face is blanker than ever.

However, the moment I stop worrying about how I'm going to put this across to her, I notice that her lower lip is trembling. In a sudden flurry, she puts the notepad against the wall and scrawls in a panic, "It am being River?"

"Right now, yes."

And Jessica gestures, placing one open palm to the base of her raw, scratchy throat. 'Am being Jessica?' I hear it, clear as live music, every word.

"It was. It might again."

Jessica paces. Away from me, which is very frustrating, when I would very much like just one straight and full answer out of _somebody_ today. I don't think that's very much to ask. Should it come down to it, I will not go to bed disappointed. No indeed. Should it come down to it, I may very well turn to Pond and ask her if she is in fact a woman. Now, do not think me a fool, I know full well there will be questions, and offence, and repercussions, to such a question. There may even be argument and cold-shouldering, and all kinds of not fun things. But by God, I will get a yes-or-no out of somebody this day. Jessica is still pacing.

Then she stops and sits down very hard next to the coffee table, and writes down Rule Five. Not for me, though, for her own reference; she writes it down and stares at it for a time while she formulates a plan.

That's good. Having a plan, that's good. You know what would be wonder-super-wonderful? If she would _share_ it with me.

Rule Five, by the way, is the rather terrifyingly phrased, 'Though it kills them, they will live again. It must kill them dead in both their hearts.'

You will not blame me, then, for flinching, when she gets up and charges right up close to me. You may blame me slightly for closing my eyes. If Jessica was going to kill me, she would have done it before now. I keep telling myself now. Because it's true, of course. But I do keep telling myself that. Over and over again, and then I can sleep, but that's another story altogether.

No, she doesn't kill me. She just grabs the belt from my dressing gown, which is rather forward of her, and I do get a bit worried when she starts tying one end around her left wrist, but it doesn't take long to see what she's getting at. She puts the back of each hand against the opposite side of her neck, criss-cross. Throws the belt around the back to the right arm. Then backs up to me to have herself secured this way. Good and tight.

Because with her hands tucked up like that, she can't grow stakes. Should the Visitor return to her body and decide it doesn't want to be friends with me anymore, it'll have to kick me to death. Which I don't put past it, and especially not with control of that little frame, but it's a smaller risk.

With Jessica's back to me, I can tell her that I'm flattered she cares so much about my wellbeing, that she would have herself trussed up this way to protect me. And also that I'm sorry I didn't think of this when I had her chained to that table that time. That, however, hurts a little too much, so I stop, and just refuse to tie the hand.

Yes, that's right. I, in my infinite capacity and bravery, turn down Jessica's most admirable generosity. Because I need those stakes to get myself out of here, and I have no desire to see the dear girl, Little Ghost or no, stab herself doubly through the neck.

I told you we were making progress, she and I.

When I take her by the arms and turn her back to me, Jessica panics. She picks up the belt again, trying to demonstrate what it was she wanted. I tell her I understood and go on that all I want from her is the name of the Visitor. Her head tilts on the word 'name'. It's not the first time either.

"What is its designation, Jessica?"

She writes, 'Soul.'

"Did Owner tell you that?"

She nods. Behind me, through a mouthful of something, River's voice picks up, "Do you want me to confirm who you think Owner is?"

Jessica slips away to the very far side of the couch and crouches. Not hiding. She knows she's been seen and there's no point in that. It's just that she seeks comfort, and small, warm little crevices seem to her to be safe and comfortable spaces.

"Would I have to ask for that? As a question?"

"Is that a question?"

"Then _no_. And by the way, you've already had an extra one out of me, and where's my Jammie Dodger?" She passes me two through the hatch. River herself, or rather the Visitor, is eating a chocolate cupcake in great greedy bites. All for the endorphins, she said. To get over or around River's deep and fiery desire for me. I think it sees me thinking this, because its expression turns hard and merciless, or as much so as it possibly can with cupcake puffing out its cheeks.

"You want to ask her what she sees in you? I'll give you a free one while I'm in here, since I raided your cupboards and all."

I wish it would rephrase that, you know. Nonetheless, I'm not blind to what really is a stellar opportunity. One question to ask of one's wife, to be answered in putatively complete honesty. A pure nugget of information extracted by an outsider claiming utter neutrality. A straight answer.

There are a great number of straight answers I would like from River.

But not like this.

"No, my dear Soul, I think we can call it quits."

It grins, lifts an eyebrow. Then stops, to touch that eyebrow and check that it really has lifted. "I've always wanted a body that could do this… Who told you my name was Soul?" It pushes River's head through the hatch and peers around at Jessica, watching over the arm of the couch. "Was it you, princess? Naughty little grass, what _would_ your Owner say? Giving away all our secrets. What else has she told you, Doctor?"

"Get out of my wife."

Not _strictly_ an answer to its question, but rather an expressionist interpretation of how the question made me feel, and an abstract-slash-futurist comment on the performance piece which follows, in which I very swiftly wrap the belt recovered from Jessica twice around River's neck and pull it tight.

Not River, you understand. Strangling River is just a necessary means to an end, and it pains me more than I can tell you.

But within moments, I can hear Jessica being picked up off the floor behind me, being dusted off and crowing, "Cheap trick, Twoheart." I loosen the belt twice as quickly as I put it on, check River's breathing, then lower her gently as I can back out through the hatch. Which is now, at least, open. "Seriously. Your own _wife_. You know she _expects_ it of you? It'd break your heart if you let it, being in her head. I mean, her and I both know what you're going to put her through and me, personally? I would _not_ still be here-"

"I wish you weren't…"

"-Actually, that's a lie, I would have killed you and stolen the Tardis by now. _You_ would not still be here, is what I mean."

This, of course, is _all_ lies. All manipulation. All games. Still, I can't really think of anything to say to shut it up. Which leaves it free to finish.

"It's you and her and this one I'm sitting in. One big inevitable tragedy going exactly to plan…"

If I ask it what it means, I'm asking it a question. Which means it gets to ask me one. I don't know how many more it needs to ask before it can leave, and I'm not finished with it yet. So there's no point in wasting my finite chances on lies and slander, is there?

That's all it is. Lies and slander.

That's all.


	6. Chapter 6

Through Jessica's eyes, Soul the Visitor reads Rule Number Five to itself and gives a long low whistle. "Kill them dead in both their hearts," it says aloud, sounding stunned, scandalized. "Scary biscuits for you and the lady wife, Doctor. How _do _you stand it, by the way? It's like having a club on a Saturday night going in your chest."

"How do _you_ stand being so ill-equipped, and slow, and lopsided?" I retort, instinctively. Then see it smile and realize I made a bit of an error there.

"You're under duress, Doctor. We won't count that as a quid pro quo question." In light of what we just discussed, I am about to ask it what exactly it actually is. It's a fundamental question in Tardis-board race relations, and I haven't gotten around to it yet. I open my mouth, and I draw in breath, and it lifts up Jessica's big bright eyes and stops me like they were a Gorgon's eyes. "Ask her how many she's murdered."

Oh, dozens, I should imagine. If I add up the Ghost stories of my childhood, there's fifteen or so there, and probably more. Oh, just dozens, surely. No point in fixing a number on it. No. That's not an irresistible question at all. No. Just damn close to it.

"What are you, really?"

It nods, benevolent, conceding its respect for my self-control. "What the name says; I'm a soul without a body of my own. I'm all the _real_ bits of a person, without the real _bits_. Think of a person as like a really mediocre dancer, but wearing a glorious spangly dress with all feathers and trimming and such."

"You are a disembodied piece of cheap tack dressed up as more than it really is and you can't dance. Right, got it."

"That's not how it is at all, but if it helps you think of it that way, you knock yourself out." That's odd. That's my thing, making false comparisons for the benefit of beings of lower intelligence. Where has it heard that and how does it know that and why did it make a point of doing it for me? None of those are questions I can afford to ask, though. And anyway, it's this Soul's turn. "And for your information, I'm a wonderful dancer. Speaking of, what's River's favourite song?"

"Otis Redding, _These Arms of Mine_."

It makes the buzzer noise from that damned game show Amy watches, then singsongs, "_Wrong_. But it's good to know what you think."

It's lying on the couch again, this time on Jessica's belly, kicking her booted feet up behind in slow, gentle arcs. Enjoying, maybe, the sensation of being able to do that. I shouldn't be thinking analytically about it, when analytical thinking can so often lead to sympathy, but what's it like to live without form? What exactly is the payoff to being a parasite?

I didn't say that out loud, so it doesn't technically class as a question. I'll bring that up if Soul does. Because somehow, she knows what I'm thinking, and she answers it anyway. "Nothing. Absolutely bloody nothing scratch zip zero none niet nada nought. Except you get to be a tiny bit psychic when people are thinking about you. And I prefer the term 'vicarious-experience life form' to 'parasite', please."

Interesting. I make a mental note of that statement, to use later on when it's leaving forever ne'er to return, in fear of its very existence even as a vicarious-experience life form. I say nothing now, of course, because it doesn't do to overshoot one's false start, or however the humans split up the phrasing of that. Also because Visitor Soul is writing on the lines below Jessica's list of life lessons.

"You're writing."

The careful wording makes it laugh. "Yep. I got it from River, see, how you ended up locked in here in the first place. And it's not fair, that she wanted the two of you talking and I've, as you so nicely put it, Doctor, _gatecrashed_. So I thought I'd give you a hand and dredge up the rest while we're here. Get you both started."

It is quite without thinking that I go to the back of the couch and lean over, reading over her shoulder. Because despite this unwelcome presence, I still feel very much as though I am with Jessica. Which is another worrying factor because all Soul would have to do to go unnoticed is play the part of a pokerfaced mute. Now, given, I could clap by its ear and see if it jumped, but I can't do that all the time. Jessica would eventually come to distrust me again, if I were to start all that.

Soul goes back up the list and adds numbers to each line.

'6 –dot-' I read in its much neater and more even handwriting. Then it says aloud, "'To kill them, Owner will send it to Outside. It must try to forget everything that it sees there. The more it remembers, the more there is for the Twohearts to sense.' My _days_, you Twohearts are a talented people." She looks over her shoulder, then turns onto her side, and smiles like a little girl discussing television characters, "Hey, who was your favourite Time Lord, back when there were more of you?"

I pity Soul, you know. If I was to be a disembodied mind floating about the universe tormenting people, I would like, at least, to be secure in myself, and undamaged. This sort of bipolar personality it has must be a real curse when you've got no human contact. Nobody to take it out on but yourself. Trying to make friends one minute and wound the next, it must be hell.

"It's my question, remember?"

"Can't blame a poor soul for trying."

As I go back to the chair, it sits up to watch me. And I sit down first, because I know sitting down at whatever answer it gives me would be cliché and unnecessary and it is always best, after all, to be prepared. I will need to be prepared, you know. I've been walking around thinking about this for a while and I think I will need to be prepared.

"A question for Jessica," I say. Which is a stupid thing to do, because this Soul could be lying. And it says it was called, and I haven't asked who by, and there must be a reason why it's doing this, and I haven't asked what it is. Still, I put to it, "A question for Jessica Apple. How many Time Lords has she killed?"

Soul smiles wanly, and it annoys me to see that it suits Jessica's face. There's something old and exhausted about it. "None," it says. Then, before I can rage at it for the liar it is, "When was before-designated, though, when him am to have been calling her Little Ghost, Keepernumber was being eighty-one."

That is the point at which I would have needed to sit down. It is the point, currently, at which I fall back in the chair, and very briefly shut my eyes and wish that there was nothing here anymore. I stole a scone, you know. I insulted Pond over a scone and it's all just spiralled out of control. If Scone wasn't all rotted away I would eat him without mercy or remorse just now, and end all this forever. But it would seem, sometimes, that the road just doesn't fork, but goes on straight and inevitable.

Where have I heard that before?

"You know," it says softly, "it's alright that you had to ask that. It's just… _closure_, sort of. I could write you a list, if it helps."

"No. No, that wouldn't help. And anyway, it sounds like it might take a while and frankly, Soul, I'm getting a bit tired of your company and a bit claustrophobic in this room. Might be about time to start finishing up, I think…"


	7. Chapter 7

"Are you going to throw me out, Doctor?" it grins.

"Quite literally."

"You can't even _lift_ this shell."

"That is Jessica you're hijacking, and I'd rather you didn't refer to her as a shell."

"What are you going to do about it, Doctor? I really can't tell you how nice it is to see you defenceless. It suits you."

"Wait, you said this was the first time we'd met. You said that, when you came in, that I would have dressed for the occasion if I'd known." It lies. I knew that. And I knew eighty-one was an impossible number. The only thing that still baffles me is that Soul seemed to think it would get away with lying about something like that. Like that was a good idea. Like I said before, I pity it.

"Oh, for you it is."

And just like that my argument crumbles. Bloody time travel. More trouble than its worth, sometimes.

"Now you have questions, but it's my turn. Forget all that nonsense about forcibly ejecting me. Answer two and I'll tell you all about it."

"I'll live, I think."

It sighs and pouts. Then starts, strange to relate, to unlace Jessica's boots. Notices me watching and mutters, "And what? I miss my feet, I want to see these ones. Amy, out there, she has beautiful white little feet. I used to have feet like that, when I had legs to put them on the ends of, before you took all that away and-"

"_I_ took?"

It rages, forward, slamming Jessica's hands down on the coffee table, "It's _my_ question now!"

"Fine."

"Favourite pet!"

"K-9."

"Now ask me again what you took from me!" For a truly unsettling moment, it looks right at me. The dark mist shifting in Jessica's eyes is thick and forward. And they're damp, the eyes themselves, glistening. It hits harder, I think, because I've never seen that before. When I think about her life I wonder why. "I'm sorry," Soul croaks, clearing the stolen throat. "It must be this mind, I never used to get this emotional myself."

It moves to dry Jessica's eyes on its forearm, and yelps.

The stakes, you see, are starting to show.

"Ah. It am having to have been gets angry or scared and makes them grow." It starts, one small cautious step at a time, coming around the coffee table. Towards me. "Let's think now. What gets it all shivery?"

"_Her_," I correct, "What gets _her_ all shivery." Oh, look at me, being all calm, like it's not contemplating my murder in the short-to-mid-term future. You know, if I wasn't me, and I knew me, and I was looking in on this from the outside, I would be just glowing with pride. As a matter of fact, I'm probably just going to go on ahead with that.

It sits down next to me, eyeing and stroking that vicious little spike. Only halfway down her forearm now, but if Soul wanted to, it could still do some damage with it. "Whatever. I have an idea. Let me listen to your hearts." And before I can quite stop it, it's got Jessica's arm around my shoulders and her little head pressed to my chest.

"I have to say, Soul, you're awfully forward."

"They're not my bodies; I can do whatever I want. I tell you, you'd blush if you could feel this one's little cardiac right now, it's doing four-to-the-floor." And the stake is growing, entirely of its own accord. I dread to think what might happen if Soul decided to concentrate, to focus energy on that growth. If it could target River's endorphins it could almost certainly target Jessica's protein chemistry.

That's why, when the stake gets down to the hand, when the fingers start to flex, ready to seize up and strike, I grab hold of it first. Metal cold, textured and irregular like wood. Thankfully, breakable like wood too.

I've done this before, though usually with the arm chained down. The blades are surprisingly brittle when bent.

The snap itself is quick and easy. What's never happened before is the scream that follows. Soul rolls Jessica's body away from me and scrambles until it reaches the wall, where it stands, swearing and clutching the stump.

"What?" I cry out to it. "Don't be a drama queen. Jessica has never screamed at that before."

With barely any voice left at all, it whispers, "There's a reason for that. I mean, _God_, Doctor!" Holding up the arm, to show the jagged stump of the blade, and the fine, clear something oozing from it. When I look at the piece in my hand, it's doing the same. "It's _part_ of her, of course it hurts! Christ Jesus, does it bloody well hurt!"

It has sunken against the wall. I ease along to the end of the couch nearest to it. With the stake as my extension, I can just about tickle the base of its throat. Suddenly the pain doesn't seem to be quite so all-consuming. It's happy to look at me again, and it doesn't pout, doesn't quip, doesn't talk and trick and inveigle. It may, in fact, be listening for once.

"What is this stuff? What's it made of?"

It looks away. Asking Jessica, I presume. Then shakes the head. "I don't know."

"Come on, it's part of the body and you're in the body, now what is it? It's not fair if you don't answer the questions when you're asked-"

"No, I mean I literally don't know. She doesn't know. Look at the next rule." It's a bit precarious, me stretching over the coffee table, lifting the notepad, whilst the tip of the stake is still at its throat, but it's a chance which, on reflection, I'm willing to take. It should feel a little touch of pressure there too, so it knows how I feel.

The next rule states that Owner will teach it the words it needs. All other words are bad and must be forgotten.

"That's what got it into all this trouble in the first place," Soul says. "A word. A bad word, but it wouldn't forget it because it was so scared. It was the _weirdest_ thing, Doctor. It taught itself to speak. Moved its lips and tongue and forced the air out through it. Had no idea what it was doing, only that everybody else did it. Said this one word, this bad forbidden word, over and over again. Ask me what it was. Go on, I'll let you have this one for free. Ask me what the word was."

"Your question," I tell it.

More important things, right now. Like getting out of this room. It's getting sickening, this big presence stuck in this little space. And Soul, of course, though that's something rather more kin to a fly buzzing around in the corners. I'm done with Soul, you know. It and I are nothing to each other anymore.

I go to the door and try the lock. The stake is too heavy to pick it, but there's a chance I could jam the bolt open. I try. And as I'm trying to wiggle it home, Soul heaves Jessica up from the corner, and slips up close behind me. Not quite silently. Just enough sound and movement for me to know it's there.

"You know earlier, when I asked you who your favourite former-now-dead Time Lord was? What way did that make your hearts feel?"

"Slow," I tell it. Slow and far away. At a sad, lonely kind of peace and slung low with old, old guilt. All I tell it is, 'slow'.

"I'm sorry for your loss," it hisses at me. The stake breaks off in the lock. It leaves me with a piece stuck there and a long, thin splinter. Soul sighs, "That's another fine mess you've gotten us into."

Which is from Laurel and Hardy which doesn't strike me as a Soul kind of thing to be into, but I like them. That's the second time it's done that. Quoting me things I've never said in front of it. I turn only quick enough to catch half a glimpse of it, and it looks happy with itself. Like it's accomplished something. But it's only a glimpse; Soul is standing at the hatch along the wall from me, testing the size of it against the size of Jessica's shoulders.

"Give me a boost. I can wriggle out here and unlock it." I'm watching, thinking about how to approach that one. It goes on, "What other choice do you have? I don't even really need the boost, I'm just being sociable."

"Off you go then." It pouts at me. Then, with absolute ease and fluidity, hops Jessica's body up into the hatch and slips out.

While it's outside, I take the last splinter of Jessica's stake and put it away in my inside pocket.

To its credit, Soul comes back to open the door.

"You're out now," it smiles, bright, all teeth.

"I am," I tell it, and don't smile back.

"Any point in you being out?" I start down the corridor, and it follows me. "Do you have any idea what it's like being in this mind when you get all stoic? It thinks you're going to kill it again. Give her _something_."

I turn to it. Stand very square and very straight. Pull my dressing gown straight and lift my chin to make an affirmative statement. "I have no problem whatever with Jessica Apple. Satisfied?"

Soul sighs one more time. Making a point of looking bored. I wouldn't need to make a point, you know, I'd just have to stop humming television theme tunes in my head to stop covering up.

It understands that.

Something falls away between us. You see, it hasn't lied, not really. None of its answers to my questions have been lies. But it's been pretending. That it liked me really. That all of this was just an unfortunate inconvenience to what might have been a beautiful friendship. No, something falls away. Soul gives up humming 'If You're Happy and You Know It' in its nebulous mind and just burns. Without the pretence, a flaming black coal of unadulterated hate.

And I think to myself, 'That's better'.

Well. It's always nice to know where you stand, isn't it?


	8. Chapter 8

"So what's the plan for this war upcoming, then?"

"I thought it was my question."

"I'm not really asking, I've been there. I know what you turn into. I'm just passing time because I have no idea what you're doing." What I'm doing is burrowing a tunnel into the back of one of the Tardis' many storage cupboards. The last of three compressed air canisters is lingering just out of reach. Ultimately I ease myself back out and point in at it. "Say please, Doctor!" So I point a little more delicately, and Soul uses Jessica to writhe through my cleared path to the back, with only her little bare feet still sticking out. I cannot see, and would not comment on even if I could, if the toes actually are that little bit hairy. I can, however, confirm, the smallness and the whiteness. I am watching this as I go on.

"No, as to the war, I've tried that once. Didn't like it. To hell with this for a game of soldiers, I said to myself, if you'll pardon the pun." It begins to worm back out. Jessica's tunic has been caught up about the waist, and for once it's clear to see just what the body is doing. Shaking, slightly, on this occasion. Just juddering in a very small, very contained way. When the face comes out and I can see that it's giggling. "What?"

As it stands, dusting itself off, the laughter turns full and bright and genuinely amused. It picks up two of the canisters, dries Jessica's eyes on her sleeve and wheeze out calm, "Where are we taking these?"

"What?" I ask again, "What are you laughing at?"

"Seriously, don't worry about it."

"No, what's so funny about my being a pacifist?" And now it outright cackles, nearly stumbling, and has to set down one of the canisters a second until it can regain its composure. All of this really rather unnecessary, and unbecoming to Jessica. Not to mention it's going to be painful for her when Soul vacates the premises. It sees me staring and sobers. The dark shifts and Jessica's eyes roll.

"Oh, fine, maybe for now you are… But that's three times you asked me, so it has to count, I'm afraid. No, I was laughing at you, sir, and you saying you'd been to war. Which you haven't. Not yet."

"Excuse me, I'll have you know-"

"You're talking about Demon's Run." I had been leading it along, taking the air canisters back to River, Rory and Pond, but that stops me. "I know."

"You got this from River."

"I was _there_."

"You're lying."

"One way or another, Doctor, Demon's Run is just a battle. It might have felt like war to you, but that's because you're not used to it yet. Because you've never, properly, been to war."

In which case, I have no desire to see war. And it will cause me no guilt to run from it. I'll be proud to run. There will be no shame, no cowardice, no regret, in fleeing from anymore of that kind of suffering. I'm good at running, it shouldn't be too much of a problem. If you think about it, it took me nine-hundred-odd years to find out that I was ever supposed to be part of UW2. Why shouldn't it take another millennium to get round to visiting?

Kovarian said something about a war that day. What battle was that? When did I step in for that one-off cameo appearance? Before it and since it, what am I meant to have done?

But it's Soul's turn to ask the question now.

"What's your clearest childhood memory?"

"You're really pushing this whole Gallifrey angle now, aren't you?"

"Yeah, I'm getting personally. I mean, I _could_ have just been all nicey-nicey and gotten this stuff later, but you haven't been the most hospitable of hosts thus far."

I don't want to think about it, you know. Not just because it's all very much ancient history and dead and gone and there's no sense in digging it all up, but because I don't want to give Soul the satisfaction. But it has said it now, and the old tide does not need to be bidden to come rushing in. It just does. Hundreds of things. Dormitories and food and fields of red grass and somewhere, even before all that, a distant blurry face before I was taken from home. "The Schism," I say eventually, "That's the clearest one. Set one can down at the far end of the hall and open it a little."

Soul picks her way around my still-sleeping companions. Halfway there, it stops and turns to me. "No, let them wake up my way! They'll be coming round soon anyway, and they'll be quite happy, and-"

"No. I want them awake very soon and totally clear-headed. Now do as you're told and put the other one up in that ceiling vent." It sigh, but goes about it. As I open out my canister at the near end, I finally take the time to assess the scene, to see for myself what happened out here. So far as I can put it together, however Soul was 'called', it started out here. Where, somehow, it found or had brought with it a hypodermic syringe containing a triple dose of chlorinol-oxytocin. It used River to administer it to the Ponds, then to administer to herself. Then left River's body and swapped to Jessica's.

No, that's not quite it.

It stopped, while these friends of mine were newly asleep, and removed their shoes. Then it swapped shells.

"I miss getting sore feet," it says, swinging down from the ceiling vent. "And pins and needles. It sounds stupid, but so would you." It kneels and checks Pond's breathing against the back of Jessica's hand. And enjoys that, you know. The feeling of air bumping off something rather than just passing straight through it. It flutters her eyelids before it catches itself and stands. "Should have let them wake up my way. They'll be like bears with sore heads, waking up on compressed air. Can I at least swap over to River before it all wears off?"

"No. After it all wears off, certainly, I would _prefer_ that. But until then, no."

"You're no fun."

"I know."

"You're quite a good kisser, actually."

"Shut up." It's just standing there. Looking down at the floor. I have the horrible feeling that if it stands there much longer it's going to end up playing with somebody's feet again. Not something I much desire to watch, so I turn, and lead off towards the console room. Predictably enough, it's barely a step behind. It's my question anyway. "What do the Silence want? Overall, I mean."

It laughs, "So late in the game he actually learns how to play it! Don't ask it who sent it, guess and dig for more."

"_Answer_ _me_!"

I don't mean to bellow at it, you know. That keeps happening, doesn't it? Angry used to be a rare thing, a surprising thing. It's getting less and less surprising when it happens, you know. It might seem to come from nowhere, but that's only when you look at it from outside. When you listen close it's absolutely natural. Everybody runs out of patience eventually. I'd say I've done exceptionally well for my age.

Soul, in fairness, seems unfazed. Just burns at me again and gives up all it has. Knowing, perhaps, that it has infinitely more damage to do than I, just now. "In sequence? The Question answered, you dead, River dead and Jessica Apple back under control."

"But _why_?"

"What's your name?"

"…Fine then."

I climb the stairs to the console. Soul, rather accommodatingly, stays back, hovering along the railing with both hands wrapped around it. "Bloody shell. Says you don't like her touching anything. You don't like anybody touching anything, though. She shouldn't take it so personally."

Soul said that before I could. That's the answer I was about to give it, the second part, about nobody touching anything, that's what I was about to say. I look up, probably far too quickly, and it is grinning, and a little pink tongue darts out to run over Jessica's teeth. "What else can I tell you?" it thinks aloud, before I can say anything. "Well, that they're well on course to achieving all of these objectives, I can tell you that."

"Let them try. They've sent two to kill me already and where are they now, hm? What happened to the Silence's secret weapons before?"

"They did exactly as was expected." Apparently overcoming Jessica's compulsion to stay away from the console, Soul approaches in small, slow steps. In no hurry to get anywhere, just coming closer, just because it can. "Come on. Do you think they'd send a woman, raised on stories of you and how brilliant you are, to kill you with a kiss, and expect it to work? No, they just don't want her regenerating. Now, as for _Jessica_… Well, so much for 'Only Owner knows where they live and where they come from'. She spotted you all by her self. Jessica, they admit, got a bit closer than she was ever supposed to, which is why they're keeping such a close eye now, but other than that, it's all gone exactly to plan. Where are they now, Doctor? They're right here. In your box. Your inner circle. Wonderful, isn't it?" It's all I can do to stare at it. I'd tell it it's lying, but I'm busy; I have to keep telling myself. Have to keep telling myself it doesn't even make sense, that there's a big old loophole in it somewhere where the sense ought to be, like a knothole in wood, but all I can see, frankly, is the flat, planed side of the plank

"Of course it makes sense," Soul finishes. "You're just kicking yourself you've been too arrogant to notice. Do you believe in ghosts, Doctor?"

"Yes."

Soul doesn't smile this time. Something like peace comes over it, but there's no expression, nothing. It just stands there like a cow. Then, slowly, enjoying it, pops each of Jessica's knuckles in turn, and curls up her too-long toes until they crackle too.

I have something else to ask it, but the moment is lost in the arrival of River from below. Staggering, using the wall as a guide, alternately croaking and barking her way through, "What the hell's going on and why can I taste chocolate?"

"Hi, River," Soul says. River looks up. Still groggy, still drugged and out of it, she focuses on what must look to her to be Jessica, standing there speaking aloud. "Oh, no, this is Soul in here."

Still groggy, still drugged and out of it, River drawls, "Oh _right_, right-right..." Still all of those things I've mentioned twice before, she forgets to deny all knowledge. "How's it going, then, love? Getting there?"


	9. Chapter 9

Right. Let's recap, shall we?

Soul is telling me that the Silence are this close to getting their way. That we're all part of some crazed, overarching chess-game of a plan. River doesn't mean to, but she's telling me she knows why Soul is here. And Soul says it's here because somebody called it here.

Now, and do just bear with me, because this might seem a _wild_ leap of logic at first but, is it possible, at all, even slightly, that River may have been the one who called Soul here?

No, you're right, it's ridiculous. There's not even any motive.

Then again, couldn't hurt to ask.

I go to River and slide my arm beneath hers. Helping her up off the wall. There's enough oxytocin left in her system for her to lean in and giggle up at me. "Alright," I smile, humouring her, "Come up here, darling, and you have a seat, okay?" Step by step I guide her up the stairs and put her down on my chair. Because I crouch next to her she leans in, nuzzling my neck.

"How are you and Soul getting along?"

"Oh, _famously_. Here's a question for you, though. Just a quick one. Shouldn't be too much of a strain. Yes-or-no answer would be _bloody_ wonderful. It's just that you placed me in a room, in which there was a transmatter disc, which I believe to have been the thing that brought Soul here. And I was just wondering, River, if you'd known that was there?"

"Well," she says, "I _could_ tell you." There's a tone in her voice, a crispness, some little accent not quite her own. I pull back from cradling her to me. And she looks up. Something dark and shifting in the eyes. "But she doesn't want me to."

I push her off and stand away. Jessica is shaking her head by the console, just waking up. She staggers and nearly falls against the handbrake. To her credit, she realizes and reels the other way. Unfortunately that makes her fall over. She sits down hard and stays there, rubbing her forehead. "I told you to get out of there."

"And _she_ wanted me back. The shell comes first. What about you? What are you privileging? Your wife or your question? I'll still tell you, but she'll hate you when I leave."

"She called you. She brought you here. Why? That's my question."

"You didn't change that question much, did you?" It is getting up now, using the rail to pull itself along. Going somewhere, apparently, and it doesn't respond when I demand to know where. I can tell you in absolute confidence that it is only the fact of its inhabiting River that lets it get away with this. "Why did I come here? I could answer it that way? You've made your mind up about Doctor Song here, so if it's addressed to me, she doesn't get a say."

"_Fine_, however you _want._"

It mutters something else, rambles on about my attitude, and about the seeming-endlessness of the Tardis, how neither it nor River nor Jessica can ever find anything twice and I don't appreciate how difficult it is for an outsider. Stalling, you understand. Silly Soul; every other time I've decided on a question and put it to it, it's answered me right away. Maybe not straight and maybe not honest, but there and then. So now that it's rambling and stalling, I know something must be wrong. Different. It doesn't like this question.

Good. Should have done this much sooner.

"Doctor, _seriously_, this body is looking for where she _slept_ last night and she just let go of her last clue."

"You've passed it, it's the last left back there and then first door on the right. Why are you-" I catch myself there and rephrase. "That's an odd thing for you to be looking for…"

"This body slept alone," it says thoughtfully, pulling this up from somewhere deep. "Thought you two were man-and-wife?"

"Ah-ah-ah, not until you answer _me_."

"Why am I here? That was what we'd settled on, wasn't it?"

"Indeed."

"And you agree to that?"

"For God's sake yes!"

"Because I was called, Doctor. Shame on you, asking the same question twice."

And on those very words, it closes itself in behind the first door on the right. Because it is walking around in River and I am walking around in a damp dressing gown, it has the sonic, and seals the door behind it. Me, feeling duped and tricked, I do what any sane and sensible person would do and batter the door, shouting things at it about how it cheats questions like a genie and how genies never come off well in the end.

I finish. A few quiet seconds pass.

From within, in a distant, distracted way, "What's your favourite fairytale?"

Sullen and defeated, "The Princess and the Frog."

"Not Rumpelstiltskein then?" This is said as the door opens again, and it slips back out into the hallway. It watches while I struggle to phrase my next sentence without the question mark, then smiles and shakes River's head. "Don't waste a question on what I was doing in there. I have no idea."

"You'll forgive me if that doesn't make sense."

"I told you before, it takes a while to settle into a mind. Doctor Song is still driving."

"It took no time at all with Jessica."

"There's nothing in her little head to fight with. Jessica lives in all these little momentary experiences. Doesn't think about past or future, just does. Whereas this head is very very different to that. It's a big, clever, organized head and everything is relative and it is _very_ much its own woman…"

Which would make sense. I could buy that, put up with that, take that with a pinch of salt as a fact I can live without testing the veracity of. Except that as Soul says that, it pushes past me, and under River's jacket I feel a familiar, hardback shape. That's not alright. Soul can't have that and I can think of a great many reasons why Soul would both want it and lie about it.

So I try to take River's diary back.

Soul fights. The book passes back and forth between us once or twice. Soul is, of course, far more willing to damage me than I am to damage River's body. And yet there is a point at which it has me pinned, and the glance is brief I can't be sure, but I see no shifting dark behind the iris of her eyes. And when I am standing again, when it finally snatches back the diary and holds it, like a child, to River's chest, it stretches the other arm out long and brings the open hand up to slap me.

And Soul, you know, always struck me as a closed hand type of creature. Pardon the pun on 'struck' there, if you will.

There's a flicker across the features, the eyelids rattling like twitched blinds, and the shifting comes back. "Sorry. Told you she was a bit uppity. River says she doesn't want you grabbing for that again."

"You mean to tell me that was _her_?" I ask it, not believing a word, holding my stinging red cheek.

"She feels very strongly, Doctor, on this particular subject. Jesus, I'd be scared of her too…"

"I am _not_ sc-"

"Not _you_!" it cries, sweeping in vicious to address me but inches from my face. "Not everything is about _you_! Jessica! In Jessica's head, earlier on! Rule nine; Owner owes it nothing. If it disobeys Owner will cease to protect it and the Twohearts will come to kill it. And I was thinking to myself, that'll be good for a laugh, later on! Dredge that up, when there aren't any Twohearts left but you and this half-blood! I was waiting 'til I got in here, got a decent voice; I was going to belt out, 'All By Myself' and then ask you if you wanted to kill me yet! But all of that depends on both you and this shell not being very scary at all. I have, however, just decided that Doctor Song here actually does scare me a little bit. Are we all caught up, you _arrogant_-"

"_Language_, dear, that's still my wife you're standing in."

It stands there a moment. The rage drains out of it. It gives one sharp burst, a little exhalation, of a snarling laugh. "Mmh, that was rule nine, wasn't it? You know, before I go, sweetie, we should talk about number ten. Ask me about number ten. Don't worry, it's not your last question. Ask me about number ten."

I don't care about number ten. I left Jessica in the console room, holding her head and barely coping with the day's events, but Jessica will tell me in time about number ten. See, I might believe Soul when it tells me this won't be my last question, but I know it well enough now. It's clever and it knows all the tricks, but it isn't smart. It doesn't plan, and at any rate it's been too angry with me since the moment it arrived to think clearly ahead. If it's telling me this isn't my last question, the last one is getting close. There's not a word to waste.

"You've asked me a series of questions since you arrived. The answers clearly have meaning to you. What is that meaning, Soul?"

"Oh, you know, I'm glad I do finally get to sing while I'm in here…"

"A non-musical explanation will suffice, thank you."

"You shouldn't need to ask this, you know. You're thick. From Thickania." There's no way it can know that. I said that once and never said it again because it didn't sound right. Didn't have that catchphrasey ring to it. Also, I'm not generally thick, haven't had much cause to pick it up. Forgot all about it, in fact, until this moment.

Once again, Soul swings away from me, in River's body, holding River's diary to her chest, doing a little cross-step back and forth across the hall, and singing, "_Getting to know you, getting to know all about you_…"


	10. Chapter 10

I'll admit it. Proof and circumstance are forcing me to admit it.

Soul was, a little bit, a tiny, bordering inconsequential bit, right. I've been a tiny bit thick. Or rather I've been a nice person, of liberal and accepting mind, willing to believe and not be cynical about things. Yes, that's it. That's a better explanation. Right, that's what we're going with, scrap that bit about Soul being right. I'm not stupid, I'm just nice.

Getting to know me. Soul wants in.

Since it's been here, it has visited both Jessica and River. If, as is my practically-confirmed-suspicion, the Silence sent it here, then it's no leap to assume that Soul knows enough about them to be able to form a psychic link. Don't ask me how it works just yet, I'm working on that. I'll let you know. But it's got something to do with shoe sizes and favourite pets and childhood memories. Some kind of telepathic password, perhaps. Now it's working on me, and very nearly finished.

And it's Soul's turn to ask the question.

"You know," I say, because it doesn't seem to be rude and probably won't talk over me, "You're reacting very badly to losing your physical form, in my opinion. Think about it. You've become a being of pure thought. You're immortal, practically. You can hop into any body you please, with a little care and attention, do anything, go anywhere. A lot of people would kill to be in your position."

It stops at a crossroads of corridors and stamps River's foot, demanding, "Console room!"

I point it left and try not to smile too broadly at its evident frustration. "I mean, I can only speak for the average Gallifreyan, of course, but it's so _difficult_ taking care of an actual body, isn't it? Just a constant succession of everyday chores and hygiene and grooming and feeding and clearing out… What were you, Soul, male or female? Ever had to shave? It's a pain, it really is. And then all they do is go and get sick and break on you anyway. You're free of all that."

We have reached the console. Soul is standing at the top of the stairs, with me following along at the bottom. It spins on me, but without looking down. Looking up instead, into the dome of the ceiling. It speaks, and makes River's voice low and mean, but heartfelt. "Well then, I'll tell you what, Doctor. You find me a candidate, the right gender, age and body type, and you help me figure out how to swap, and we'll call it quits, you and I." It's looking up to keep the tears in River's eyes and not rolling. I could wonder which of them that is, which of them I've hurt, but there's no time. It doesn't make a difference anyway; Soul is vulnerable and that can only be for the good. I start up the stairs. It turns from me and goes to Jessica, still sitting where she fell before, hugging her knees with her head down low. "Hello, love," she tries, that soft, cooing tone River uses when she's trying to make friends with the weak. Jessica pulls up and scatters back to the rail.

"I didn't mean to _offend_ you, Soul," I say, quite level, quite calm, quite quiet. "I was merely pointing out that, whatever it is you may think I go on to do to you, that maybe I've done you a favour."

That, I believe, is what is known as hitting a nerve. Repeatedly, in an up-and-down motion, with a cheese grater. Soul stands and comes towards me with such force and purpose that, yes, I retreat a step or two. In fact, I might turn around and make it a more definite retreat, if it didn't catch up with me a bit faster than I had expected. It gets me by the throat again, again with River's long strong hand and, since this time it wants more than caffeine or chocolate, this time it squeezes.

"Someday," it says. No tone, nothing to describe, just says. "Someday I am going to take this body and I am going to kill you with its bare hands. There will be nothing you can do to stop me." Over her shoulder, Jessica is up from the railing and silently behind it in a matter of seconds, and the stake is grown long on either arm. Ready for each of River's hearts. As much as I can, I shake my head to her. Soul laughs, "And the Little Ghost back there will react just exactly the way she just did. I want you to know that this is coming, Doctor. And I want you to know that when your wife is murdering you that they will be my eyes you'll be looking into, and I'll be smiling. You'll die together, the Silence will reclaim Jessica Apple as the weapon of their revolution, and I will be gone."

I want to tell it I don't believe it, but for one, I am currently choking quite badly on the hand around my throat, and for another, I've got a terrible feeling it's telling the truth. I don't know when it's come from, how it knows, but there's something here to fear. At any rate I have no doubt whatever that it is more than prepared to go through with the scenario when the time comes.

Presuming she has been ignored, Jessica reaches up and taps Soul on the shoulder with the end of the stake. Soul half-smiles and releases me.

"Just you try it," I tell it.

"There's nothing you can do."

"Well, I've heard that before."

"And that's why you're arrogant. You really shouldn't be, you know, not with what you've got coming-" It might go on, might tell me more. But River's body suddenly buckles back. Soul mutters 'No's and mutters profanities that must refer to River, and a moment later, Jessica jolts in much the same way.

"Not kosher, Doctor Song!" Soul cries. Back in Jessica now.

"You were warned!" River shouts back, turning from me and charging, fearless of the stakes, to stand toe to toe with Soul. "You were told how far you could go!"

"And who warned him not to push me?"

"Push you?" I cut in, around River. It's not that I'm hiding behind her, it's just that she's between the two of us. This isn't the time to ask her to move, or to speak from the side, or any such thing. No, much easier to stay at her shoulder here. Behind her gun hand. But that's a total coincidence. "All it did was mention your current lack of corporeal manifestation."

"My what?"

"The fact that you have no feet, dear."

"Bastard," it breathes, and launches at me, but that's why River is between us. She grabs hold of Soul at Jessica's wrist and turns the arm, stake and all, up behind her back. "Don't worry, I'm not going to kill him. That's your job." River jerks the arm a little harder. Soul winces, recoils. Huddled in Jessica's pain, it lifts the eyes to me, though no more. "Owner am been having one more rule for it. Him am wanting to hear it? She not makes him have to be asking the question."

River yanks it by the arm and starts to drag it to the door. "I think you've said enough, don't you?"

"Wait," I say. "If it's the last one, we might as well let it speak."

"No, my love."

"Yes, River."

Soul rolls Jessica's head back onto her shoulder and grins, in a strained and brief and terrifying way, at River, then rolls back to me.

"Though no Twoheart has a soul," she begins, "though each and every one of them is rotten and wants to destroy you, there is one you must fear more than any other. He lives for cruelty, and you are forbidden even his name." River sighs. Lets go of the arm. Sits down very heavily on the chair by mine, that should have been hers, if she was staying. Sits with her head on one hand and won't look at me. "She knows where I'm taking this, see?" Soul says. "That's the tenth rule. And the only one which, so far as I can tell, isn't totally stupid and erroneous."

That's me. That's the words from my mind, the ones I've been thinking and haven't actually said. How close is it? What else does it know?

"You have to wonder, though, which name they actually denied her. I mean there's Doctor, yeah, but there's the Oncoming Storm, and there's Victorious, there's John Smith if you really want to push it, the General, when all they really have to do is call you Mr and Mrs Time Lord, it's not like we're going to get you confused with anybody now, are we?"

"Wait. Say that again."

"Calm down, Doctor. You know you're the last."  
>"<em>Before<em> that. The last name you said."

"What? 'The General'? You want me to say 'The General' again? That 'The General' is another name for you?"

Because I am about to charge, and because it does her great good to damage Soul in any way, River reaches out and snaps off the last stake Jessica is still wearing. Throws it to me on my first step, so that Soul backs up away from me. The stakes start to grow again, but only in that slow, unpracticed way they did before. Still not getting the hang of it, poor thing. Soul backs all the way down the stairs until it finds the door at its back and can go no further.

"Oh, go on then," it rattles, fast, desperate. "I know it's my turn, but I'll give it to you. Go on, Doctor, what's your final question?"

"Sweetie, _please_," River begs. Without looking, I can tell she hasn't so much as turned to look; her voice is still muffled and distant. "_Think_ about this."

"River, I've thought about little else since I first heard that." With the tip of the stake pressed to Jessica's navel, I look Soul in the dark, misty eyes and demand, finally, to know, "'The General', Soul. What does that mean?"

It grins. Slowly at first, then broad, the lips splitting over the teeth and right back, creasing Jessica's unprepared face in ways that look painful and hisses at me, "Thank you."

I answered it, didn't I? It asked me what my final question was, and I gave it my answer.

It's an odd sensation. It's a black, fuggy feeling around the edges of the mind, like an idea you can't quite grasp, lingering beyond the ends of your fingertips. Then it reaches out, and suddenly you think of the size of your shoes. You grab for it there, to get a hold of it, to fight it off, and on the other side of your mind you hear, 'Once upon a time, there was a spoilt princess, playing with a beautiful golden orb…'

Then you flip over the stake in your hands and, rather than wound Jessica, wound yourself. Or that's what you do if you're really clever and you're not quite expecting it to hurt as much as it turns out to hurt. Jessica buckles and holds her stomach, but it's just a reaction, an incomplete transfer, affecting us both. "Christ!" balks Soul, "Psychopath!"

"You're not the first to say that," I manage, through wincing. I catch it eyeing River over my shoulder, and turn enough to through her that last scrap of the first stake I put in my pocket. She understands immediately, and holds it by her throat. "You can't stay in a damaged body, can you, Soul?"

"Yeah, well," it stammers, "I'm new to this. I'm working on that."

"And when you get there, we will be very, very worried about you. For now, though, Soul, goodbye."

I turn the stake back again. The aim is to leave a single shallow cut on Jessica's side, somewhere inconspicuous that won't trouble her too much, while Soul is still unsettled. I, however, am somewhat incapacitated myself. It's all I can do to get the stake into position. I'm not watching Soul at the same time, is the point I'm making. I don't see it swivelling Jessica's body around. Bringing my aim central again. So that when I push, the stake pierces her just below the breastbone, and sinks far deeper than the expected flesh wound.

It was not my intention.

Jessica, waking with the weapon buried in her, does not know this. She forgets to dip her face behind her hair and just looks at me, dead on, unblinking. Eyes watering, and God help me, I pray that that's the pain.


	11. Chapter 11

"Listen to me, Jessica," I begin, and something like a weak, angry smile passes over her face. "No, listen _here_," and I bring up one hand to the heart of the left, the one she stands a chance of recognizing, "Soul did this. This wasn't a trick. This was nothing to do with what we are or you are or-"

River had been coming to help me, to lift her away somewhere. Jessica sees her approaching and slips along the wall away from me. Stops to reach down and snap off what she can of the stake in her stomach. I take a step towards her and she tries to run, glancing around for her exits and choosing the corridor to her right. But where she intends to take off, Amy and Rory are just helping each other in the opposite direction with their usual impeccable sense of timing.

That was sarcasm. I wasn't sure if it was clear from the tone, what with you reading and not being able to hear it, so I just want to make perfectly clear, I was being sarcastic about their timing.

There's no excuse for it, either; River's been here a good fifteen minutes now.

I stop watching. I hear Rory murmuring, "Jessica?", like it could be anybody else, then all the concerned noises of him going into full nurse mode. The flap of bare feet, and I bet she hasn't realized yet that she has been de-pumped, as Pond charges up to River and I and demands, "What's going on here?"

Which is a fair question. Any other day I'd answer her. But I'm very, very sick of questions right now, and it is easier altogether to keep my mouth closed and instead climb the stairs back to the console. Poking thoughtlessly at the navigation system, and River calls up to me, "Where are we going?"

"_Excuse me_?" Pond balks. "I asked you two a question; _one_ of you could answer me."

"I don't know," I say to River. "Alpha Centauri sound alright?"

"Doctor!" Pond shouts.

"Don't worry, you don't have to go to Alpha Centauri."

There is the usual jolt when we take off, with an extra added expletive from Rory. My fault, really, I should have checked, but he was just helping Jessica up when I did it, and the start has hurt her.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" he spits. And again, it's a fair question right now. But it _is_ still a question and I come _far_ too close to spitting the words 'The General' right back at him, and so it is again easier to say nothing.

Anyway, we arrive.

We land, with another jolt and this time Rory just sits Jessica down on the steps. With their backs to us, like a pair of children. And I know for a fact _she_ doesn't blame me as much as he does. Jessica Apple is an altogether more understanding sort than either of the humans present and for that I am very grateful. Whether or not she ever communicates with me again, or comes within twenty feet, for that matter, is a different thing entirely. I'll think about that in a minute.

I go to the door, and I open it. River doesn't move. So I call to her and nod her out. She doesn't understand. She stands there _looking_ at me, all hurt and gormless. But she could ask me, "What?", and I'm grateful for the fact that she doesn't. The next person to ask anything gets beaten about the head with the question mark.

"Alpha Centauri is a hub, you can go anywhere from here and be fine."

"And where am I supposed to be going?" Oh, there it is. There's the hook-nosed little menace. Yes, that was most definitely a question, with which, as previously stated, I am quite through.

"I don't care, River, so long as I am nowhere near it. And before you start asking again all the whats and the whys and the useless questions just to hear it from my mouth when you know it all already, yes, I am throwing you out and yes, it is because you brought Soul here."

Somewhere else, Pond whispers to Rory, "What's Soul?" Which is another fair question and one which I would very much like to have answered myself, but I will not ask.

"Soul, Amy, is a very angry and very dangerous psychic presence who has just had the run of the place while you two were knocked out, and on account of whom we are all now in grave peril. But what the hell, it's Wednesday on the Tardis, that's just what happens, isn't it…"

She comes running to us, and stands by her daughter, both hands wrapped around River's arm. "We can't just abandon her here."

"Oh, but we can."

River has her diary in her free hand. There is, tucked into it, an A4 page folded into quarters, and it is this which she is poring over now. "No. No, my love, this is all wrong."

"You can't do this," Amy tells me. It is, at least, a plain and affirmative statement. "You can't just decide you're finished with somebody and cast them off like one of you stupid bloody hats!"

"I didn't decide, Amy; River did." As an afterthought, "And I have never cast off a hat, they have all been taken from me." As an afterthought, that doesn't go down well. River puts her free hand over Pond's to hold her back. Then slips out from under, and comes up close to me. Close so I can hear the cotton sound her hair makes when she shakes her head and smell that chocolate cupcake and not see her eyes.

Says to me, "Why?"  
>Which is the only question, really, ever. What else is worth the pain and effort of the answer? Why, River? Because someday Soul is going to take you over, and I believed it when it told me that I would only watch as you killed me. What else will there be for me to do? Because I don't want that ever to happen. And if it never happens, Jessica can never misread the situation and you never end in that dark, violent moment after me, and that's not how we finish, you and I. But if I told you all that, you'd stay. You'd tell me we were stronger than that and that there is always a way. You'd tell me until you made me trust in it. But I know now in the depth of my hearts and in the objectivity of my mind that I just don't know. I can't risk us for this. There are chances you take and there are chances you will tear the world down to stay away from and this is one of those times. So help me, I will put a universe between us to keep you safe.<p>

But if I told you all that you'd stay.

"Because every time I start to trust you, River, you…"

It's alright. I should lie. It's all for her, there is no problem, I should lie.

But it's easier altogether just to keep my mouth shut and say nothing at all.

"You can't do this," Amy affirms again. This time meaning it. Not holding River this time, but reaching out to try and hold me. Her voice is shaking, bordering tearful. When I say nothing, she goes back to River. "Then we're coming with you."

"No," River starts. This is for them. I go to set a new course, away from here.

"Don't argue with me, young lady! We're coming. Right, Rory?" No response. "Rory?"

I stop. Not to listen in, of course, but because Rory is watching me over his shoulder. Waits a good deal too long before he answers her.

"Jessica's hurt…"  
>"To <em>hell<em> with Jessica!" Pond cries. Edging towards hysteria. Wondering why everyone else has suddenly gone so mad or if it's her. I recognize this because I know the feeling very well. "This is your daughter we're talking about!"

"Go with them," I say. I keep my eyes on the monitor so he won't think it matters to me.

"No," he says back, in just the same tone.

Amy shouts for him, and it could all turn very serious indeed, except that River reaches out and pulls her into her arms. Whispers something to her that I don't hear, but Amy relaxes. She's good at that, you know. She learned that from the very best there is.

Amy breathes out, "Don't."

River tells her it'll be alright. Then calls up to me, "Won't it, sweetie?"

There's that curvy little nuisance again on the end. Licence to say nothing one more time. "Take care of yourself, River."

As an afterthought, I fish a manipulator out from under the console and throw it down to her. "You too," she smiles, and winks. Hugs her mother one more time and shares a sympathetic glance with her father.

And then is gone. And the door shut behind her.

This time I warn Rory before take off. He puts an arm around Jessica and holds her still until we're up. Amy watches all this in disbelief and rage. I could tell her I understand. I could, but I have a funny feeling that might just make things worse.

"Rory," Pond says, "I don't understand. Explain it to me."

"She's hurt, Amy, I took an oath."

"No you didn't."

"Well, a _pledge_, come on, don't split hairs."

"_You're a father_!"

He nods. He accepts that, has nothing to offer in retort. But when he stands up, he is helping Jessica along with him. Says, "I need to get her up to the medical room."

"Well, what are you standing there talking about it for?" I say to him. I only just stopped myself from stopping to rephrase that when I realized it was a question. "Hop to it."

"You should come too, Doctor."

"Oh, don't let the title fool you. You'll be alright on your own."

"I mean you're bleeding too."

So I am. Wish he hadn't said that, it hurts a bit now. "Just worry about Jessica, I'll be fine."

Pond, watching all this, can no longer take it. She folds her arms and storms off. Rory calls her back, more than once, but she ignores him. I, for my part, go to my chair, think about sitting down, and then think better of it. Might need to get up at a moment's notice, and that sounds like a difficult thing indeed.

I lean on the rail instead and watch until Rory gets Jessica up the stairs.

They disappear. The console room falls silent. Rather than stand here alone, I decide it's probably time to go and get dressed.

[Gasp-shock-horror. A Tardis divided? No, seriously folks, sorry for the downer ending, but that's where this was headed. I hope you've been able to bear with me through all the talk. Good news is, that's the mythology pretty much out of the way. And next time there will be no downers. Next time there will be voodoo and zombies and loa and kidnap and intrigue, all down in the bayou and on the iron-fringed streets of New Orleans. That is, of course, as per, par for the course, if you all still want me? I'm always ready to go on, but I'm ready to stop when you're not having fun anymore. Drop a line if you're still with me. I'm not truffle-hogging for reviews, I want to know who you mad bunch are.

Of course those of you who have long since identified yourselves…

Hearts,

Sal.

Madis – ignore LosGatos. My brother, for reasons lost to human knowledge, thinks he's funny.

RandomRuth (re: speed of posts) – Time travel, honey!

_everybody else_ – Thank you so so much!]


	12. Better Rules

**A Selection Of Much Truer, More Sensible (and Occasionally Both) Rules About Time Lords**

18. Chandeliers Are Not For Swinging On

Unless, of course, it's going to be fun, or useful. Allowances will be made for those who are simply unable to resist.

29. Parrots Make Useless Companions

Now _minah birds_, they're a different story. Haven't tried it yet, but nothing's going to be worse than that bloody parrot.

32. Always Check If There Is A Creepy Janitor Before You Assume Aliens Did It

Because it is rather a harrowing experience to have caught yourself a rogue Slitheen, only to have its rubber face peeled off by that ascot-wearing little menace…

43. Interrogate All Prisoners Immediately and Thoroughly

In case they turn out to be actually alright really. And there's no excuses on this one, it's essential, I will brook no argument, this is a big one. Only lazy, irresponsible people skip this one.

57. Mass Opinion Is Not An Indicator of Cool

Mass opinion, for instance, holds that the classic bow tie is both uncool and unfashionable. You and I, my dear and constant reader, know this to be patently untrue.

68. Everything Is Relative (Or, The Doctor's Simplified Theory of Relativity)

But not every_one_ is relative. That would make things rather messy and complicated and family trees would go on forever and genealogists would be the highest paid professionals, which they are on some planets, but not many, and there's a reason for that.

81. Anything That Has To Come Out And Say It's Superior Probably Isn't

C.f. Daleks, Cybermen, the odd mad Silurian, and all their wicked ilk.

89. Do Not Open The Door To Small Blue-and-Orange Men

They are not to be trusted and if they _must_ come in, do take the time to go about with a hammer and get everything nailed down. I pray you will never need to take this advice, and fear yet that you might.

116. Michael Crawford Is Not Sacred

For a typically non-musical actor, Gerard Butler did a decent job. (This rule inserted for the benefit of Amelia Pond, due to the original rule 116 becoming obsolete at the same time as its originator, Betamax. Don't ask.)

148. There _Is _Such A Word As 'Impossible'

Whether or not it _means_ anything…

165. There Is _No _Such Word As 'Twitterpated'

And even if it _were_ a word, it would certainly be nothing that I would ever indulge in. I have watched a video regarding this 'twitterpating' on your human Youtube, and I am pleased to inform you all, and one of you especially, that I have far better things to do with my time. And _yes_ I'm still going about this, because I remember that it was already a rule and there was nothing previously in this slot referring to galactic diplomacy at all.

193. Never Invest Emotionally In Pastry

They'll only go and rot and leave you all alone again. They are also, as many of you have tried to remind me, delicious, and allowing them to rot is a bit of a waste, really.

198. Don't Tell People About Your Prisoners

(Another new entry, displacing something ridiculous about… I don't know, legitimate wedding ceremonies or something.) They'll get all sympathetic and _like_ her and other not helpful things.

222. The Doctor Only Ever Does What He Has To

Now this, on occasion, might make me seem unapproachable or insensitive or, in your common parlance, like a 'jerk', but I assure you, everything that is done is done by absolute necessity. Personal whim and feeling simply do not come into it. Except sometimes.

256. When One Is Struggling With A Mystery, Particularly One Which Spans Great Time Frames And Very Probably Refers To One's Own Future Identity, One Is Not Helped By People Constantly Commenting On How 'Fun' And 'Interesting' It Is

I would raise my eyebrow at you all, but the fact is this is the written word and that would be rather difficult. I wish you all to know that that's what I'm doing.

You have perhaps, by now, guessed that amongst the scraps of my infinite wisdom here offered a few more targeted comments have been placed. And yes, you followers of Miss Sally Garmonbozia, whom I shall address in a moment, they are targeted at you. _Shame_ on you. Buying into this madness, making yourselves a part of it. Have you no minds to think? No hearts to feel a man's pain and leave it in peace? _Go away_, for God's sake! In one's darkest hour one neither wants nor desires the presence of twenty or so perpetual spectators hanging on every word as if… as if it's some kind of tawdry, Saturday night television show! And don't think I haven't been offered television, but there is a _reason_, ladies and gentlemen, why I turned it down, and that's because I don't want my ups and downs and long flat middle bits splayed open like laboratory frogs in the homes of every TV licence payer!

Or, indeed, all over some tawdry lesser-visited corner of your twenty-first century internet, for that matter. It all fades out, you know. The internet, I mean. That stops, and all you mad people become utterly obsolete and totally incapable of moving on to the next thing, which I'm not telling you about, because I'm not giving you the chance to prepare in advance. So there.

And that is where our dear author comes in, isn't it? The dissector of laboratory frogs and intensely personal moments. Miss Garmonbozia is to consider this her official, written warning. Now I have no clue where she's getting her information from, but I will find out. And that source will be dealt with accordingly. For now, however, this is to be read as a clear cease and desist order on all writings appertaining to the events of my life, in all aspects and without exception. I do not think I can be clearer than that. No more, woman! You know not what it is to skim over these putative fictions in search of some blessed relief from the problems of the day and find those problems replicated!

Yours sincerely. And really sincerely and I do mean it this time,

The Doctor.


	13. Zombi Music, Peace And Love Preview

Tardis lands. I wait for the usual noises of interest, the little heads poking round the doorways, sniffing their way into the console room like curious forest animals. What with the current state of relations aboard the old box, this is almost certain to be something a difficult trip. No more difficult, though, than living with them the last little while. It actually hasn't been very long at all, in straightforward linear time measurements like minutes and seconds and _oh God_, _hours_. _Hours_ of them! Straightforward is the slowest way to go, you know, it really is, _hours_. Hours and hours of all the looks, and the not-talking, and the awkward brushing in corridors and apparently 'I'm washing my hair' isn't just an empty excuse composed solely of words, because Amy's done it twice in a matter of hours.

_Hours_. Have I mentioned the _hours_ of all this I've had to live with? In that creeping forward-progression time-ish way.

It's a good thing I'm already mad, or that would be on their consciences. All three of them. Pond, running about being clean and pretending not to cry under the sound of the hairdryer in distant rooms, and Mr Pond, _glaring_ at me all the time and putting stitches in Jessica when she's probably going to heal up anyway if her arms are anything to go by, just to make a point. And Jessica's no better, you know. She's got even less to say than the other two, and while that may not strictly be her fault that doesn't make it any easier on _me_.

That sounds selfish. I _freely_ admit that that sounds selfish. But they all _forget_ whose roof they're living under, whose good graces their continuing adventures depend upon, who it is that, should he be driven unfortunately insane by their inconsiderate behaviour, could be the end of us all.

And hence, I hereby renounce all of that difficulty, which has lasted so and threatens to be even more greatly prolonged given half a chance, in favour of this, one lesser, briefer difficulty, in getting everybody all happy and fun again.

Only nobody's coming.

I'm still standing here and nobody's come looking to see where we are, what scrapes and shenanigans we're going to get into. And so help me there will be shenanigans this day.

Bored of waiting now. It's that linear time thing again. "Ponds! Jessica! Oh, no… Anyone who's near Jessica let her know she's wanted down here!"

Pond appears first, and leans like a sullen child at the end of the hallway up from below. With _wonderfully_ shiny hair, though going a little bit flyaway with all the blow-drying. "What?" she says, just as blunt as all that, "What do you _want_, that we should all come running?"

I am not angry or frustrated or astounded by this ingratitude. I am not angry or frustrated or astounded by this ingratitude. I am not angry or frustrated or astounded by this ingratitude. I am full of joy and life and am a pleasure to be with, so I gesture with one arm opening out towards the door and I tell her, "_Adventures_."

Amelia Pond shuts her eyes and bites out at me, "I have a headache." Then turns to leave.

"Don't take one more step, you moody so-and-so, or there'll be consequences." Oh, I didn't think that one through, did I? Hard to make the word 'consequences' sound light-hearted. In fact I rather fear there might be consequences to my use or indeed misuse of the word 'consequences', if only Pond were not distracted by Rory's appearance at the top of the stairs.

"I was _summoned_?" He has a horrible, aloof way of snarling. Should take him back to meet Noel Coward. Hold the mirror up to nature, as it were. And hopefully scare nature back into a better mood with it…

"Amy's already used that little joke, thank you."

And that annoys them both because, _had I mentioned_? They're not really talking to each other either. They haven't been. For _hours_.

"What do you want?"

"We're off on a jaunt," I tell him. "It's wonderful, I've chosen a place where we can't possibly be bored and time is sure to simply fly by, and where it's always mega-party-fun-time, and everyone can be happy again."

"You think you can _fix_ this with a party?" Pond balks. Storms back up that hall, right up the steps this time, to say it to my face. "You kick my daughter out on some _nowhere_ planet, and-"

"Alpha Centauri is a very well-respected and long-established human colony from which most of Earth's connections to the farther reaches were made and-"

"You think you can _fix_ it, with a _party_. Why am I not even-?"

"-there is no place in the universe where she will be better provided for in terms of setting off on adventures, like the one which has just landed at your feet and you don't even look-"

"-_surprised!"_

That is as near as I can render two people speaking in almost perfect unison, and _absolute_ disharmony on every other level.

"Besides," I go on, to reassert who started this conversation and who, one way or another, is going to finish it his way, "it's not a party per se. It's just a really great place. There are more alien races represented living in perfect harmony and peace and _perpetual _mega-party-fun-time than anywhere else in the universe."

"Okay, stop saying that," she demands, eyes closed again.

"Stop saying what, Pond?"

"'Mega-party-fun-time."

"Why, Pond!" and I stop to check my watch, "Indeed it is! You know, I hadn't noticed, thank you for reminding me. Let's away, and catch up on the minutes we've missed." _Before they turn into more hours_…

"Yeah, well," Rory snorts, pushing off the rail, even waving, as if he's going somewhere. He has no idea. "Enjoy yourselves."

"Oh, we _will_!" I say, and I am not angry or frustrated or astounded by this ingratitude, I'm not, I'm just not, nothing of the sort, I'm chipper and cheerful, and I sonic the door down in front of him. "And so will _you_! And _Jessica… _Where's Jessica? Didn't I tell somebody to bring Jessica?"

"She's having a shower," Rory informs me. Were I listening more carefully I would catch a little earlier the sharpness in his tone, and I would _neglect_ to go on in the same tone that nearly got me into consequences over 'consequences'.

"Why? Why is it every time I need her for something she's bathing in some way? It can't be good for her, all that hygiene, she'll wash all the Jessica off…"

"I know, Doctor, it's a pain. Might have had something to do with getting all the blood off the front of her after the whole stabbing thing, but I don't know. You'll have to check with her when she gets out."

"Don't do sarcasm, Rory, it doesn't suit you."

"I'm good at sarcasm, Doctor."

"That doesn't mean it suits you."

"Yeah," says Pond. Because she's not really thinking about the fact that she's not talking to him. This is a good sign. This means, at heart, there's nothing really deeply amiss. "You're too, like, _nice_ or something."

"Oh," he murmurs. "Well, thanks, I suppose."

Then they remember they're not talking to each other and she murmurs back, "Shut up, Rory."

I, on the other hand, am an endless font of joy and enthusiasm and the thought of just dumping them back at home and letting them fight it out and River will probably be there and they'll all just _shut up_, as Amy so pointedly put it, hasn't even crossed my mind. Lately. In the last twelve seconds. Except for when I thought it just then to get it down. That's not really thinking, though, that's just what happens when you're recording something. That one doesn't count. Fifteen seconds, now, since I thought that.

"Then we shall _wait_ for Jessica!" I say that through a grin, by the way, not through gritted teeth. "And _then_ we shall have mega-party-f-"

"_Doctor_…"

"Yes, Pond, you're quite right, I _did_ promise." I didn't, but I'll give her this one. Keep her quiet.

Unlike the Tardis, who decides it's _her_ turn to complain, as something clunks against the outer shell. Honestly, you'd think the inside size of her would compensate when that happens. Matter of fact, based on how seldom it happens, I presume it does. It's just that she's choosing to make a point. Everybody, it seems, has a point to make at me today.

Oh, heavens, don't think of Jessica now just don't don't go down that crooked dark narrow little alley of thought about Jessica making a point at me, dammit, I'm not sixty anymore, I'm not a _child_ to be scared of the bogeyman… Girl. Bogeygirl.

"Doctor?" Pond questions, which finally a touch of the old, companion spirit, "What was that?"

I stick my head out the door to find out. Into fine, balmy night air full of light and life and glorious cacophony. Open the door a bit wider so they hear that, so they get a glance out, as I shoo an amorous couple off the wall of my home in much the same way that one shoos pigeons. The fact that I've just appeared out of a box always helps. I don't even have it in either heart to properly scold them. Getting all sentimental over the Ponds, you see, and how they're supposed to be and currently aren't really.

Then duck back in, and shut the door.

Rory doesn't want to ask. He really, _really_ wants to know, but doesn't want to ask. I take absolutely no pleasure whatsoever in his obvious torment.

Then he asks. Of course he does, who could resist?

"Where was that?"

"What? Out there?" Neither of them are in the mood for that old game, but they're both edging closer. Grudgingly, each being aware of the other doing the same. "New Orleans," I tell them. "Circa 1860, but that's incidental, it's still full of aliens. Just thought we might stop in and see Marie, if I got the date right."

Pond, lingering in some strange hinterland between curious and deadpan, "New Orleans is full of aliens?"

"Pond, it's _run_ by them. Spend an hour on Bourbon Street and tell me I'm wrong."


End file.
